


Shadows Need The Sunlight

by mayarmageddon



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-04-21 18:27:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14290785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayarmageddon/pseuds/mayarmageddon
Summary: Feeling content, surrounded by music and voices that he found a sense of belonging with.Feeling focused and determined as he concentrated on his work.Feeling grief for those they had lost.Feeling lonely, struggling to maintain a smile in a room of people who desperately needed somegoodnews for once.Feeling loved as he was held close--his worries chased away by soft kisses.Feeling terrified as he limped through the darkness.Feeling raw shame as blood dripped from his trembling hands.Feeling torn.Then, agony as it was all ripped away from him.





	1. Fade

**Author's Note:**

> I've been too chickenshit to write anything for a long-ass time. Here goes nothing. I hope you enjoy it; comment if you like it. K bye.

Light. He was surrounded by white light. But it wasn’t warm or comforting. It stung his skin. His eyes burned. It felt off. _Everything_ felt off. 

Something was wrong. 

But he couldn’t remember what. 

Something was missing. 

Why couldn’t he remember?

Something was nearby.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the glaring haze. A dark smudge on a blank canvas; an appropriate metaphor. The shadowed figure stumbled around wildly, calling out into the white void. 

It almost seemed like they were searching for something.

As much as he strained, he couldn’t distinguish any notable features on the newcomer’s face. But he could sense their distress, their anguish. For reasons he couldn't explain, he wanted to reach out to them. He wanted to help because somehow he _knew_ that he could’ve. But as the figure drew closer with increasingly urgent haste, the light began to fade. As it winked out completely, he caught a glimpse of the stranger whose desperate voice rang in his ears. It was a boy. 

And gods, he was beautiful. 

Suddenly he found his senses assaulted with violent flashes of--well, technically it wasn’t imagery, more like brief, specific feelings that he was somehow able to pinpoint.

Feeling content, surrounded by music and voices that he found a sense of belonging with.

Feeling focused and determined as he concentrated on his work.

Feeling grief for those they had lost.

Feeling lonely, struggling to maintain a smile in a room of people who desperately needed some _good_ news for once.

Feeling loved as he was held close--his worries chased away by soft kisses.

Feeling terrified as he limped through the darkness.

Feeling raw shame as blood dripped from his trembling hands.

Feeling torn.

Then, agony as it was all ripped away from him.


	2. Five Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See, as much as he tried to ignore it, an overwhelming feeling of loneliness had served as a constant ache in his chest for weeks now. Most nights, he laid awake, his mind whirling. He found himself wondering if there was anyone out there that cared about him. Where were they? Were they looking for him?
> 
>  
> 
> Were they close? 
> 
>  
> 
> After one particularly depressing day, he had started to scribble out a small list of things that he actually knew about himself on the back of a crinkled-up flyer. So far, he had made five additions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penny for your thoughts; who is this mysterious amnesiac: Nico or Will? Stay sharp, and be sure to comment who you believe it is. Winners get bragging rights and a metaphorical cookie. THE

Distantly, he noticed that his hand had drifted to the ring in his pocket again. It seemed to have a habit of doing that when he was nervous, he noted as he thumbed the cold metal. Yet again, he found his mind scrambling to try and recall where he had gotten it. But if he hadn't been able to conjure up a single memory from his entire past during the last two and a half weeks, what are the odds that he’s going to remember where he got a silver skull ring? Hell, he didn’t even know his own name. 

 

He was at the center of a miserable situation, the punchline of a cruel joke. He’d woken up in the middle of the woods with no money, no purpose, and not even the faintest memory to comfort him, and now he was living utterly alone under a foul-smelling bridge. But such was the life he had lived with for nearly three weeks. 

 

Right now, he was sitting on a park bench, munching on a bag of chips that he had taken from a nearby gas station. The sun was setting, casting soft orange and purple hues across the sky, and all around him, people were preparing to head back home. He found himself staring longingly at one small group of friends who had just gorged themselves on more food than he himself had eaten in three whole days. Now they laid on the ground staring contentedly at the fading daylight, talking and laughing amongst one another. His chest tightened as he tried to suppress a sudden pang of wistfulness.

 

See, as much as he tried to ignore it, an overwhelming air of loneliness had been a constant ache in his chest for weeks now. He often found himself asking the same questions over and over again. Did anyone out there actually care about him? Where were they? Were they looking for him?

 

Were they close? 

 

After one particularly depressing day, he had started to scribble out a small list of things that he actually knew about himself on the back of a crinkled-up flyer. So far, he had made five additions.

 

Number 1: he’s a damn good thief. 

 

He may not remember who he used to be before three weeks ago, but without any money to buy food and no local places willing to hire a scrawny boy who looked like he had just crawled out of the woods (spoiler alert: he had), he was forced to scavenge from trash cans and steal from vendors, shops, and grocery stores. And he was _good_ at it. So far he had been able to shoplift a hefty amount of food and water with ease, and he had found several miscellaneous items hidden in the trash. On one occasion, he had found an entire set of bedding buried in a dumpster. But nights were still cold, and he hadn’t been able to find somewhere to easily steal new clothes from. Unfortunately, that meant he was forced to wear the same tattered clothes that he had first woken up in, and that drew some unwanted attention from people who would stare warily at his disheveled clothing and the jagged scar stretching across his abdomen.

 

Oh yeah, that was Number 2: he had been hurt, badly, somehow.

 

The third addition came as somewhat of a surprise to him. 

 

_______________________

 

On the second day, something bizarre happened. He was walking back to his makeshift hideout under the bridge, carrying the result of his first tentative steal. Before then, he had tried valiantly to maintain a shred of moral high ground and had abstained from taking anything, despite how loudly his stomach grumbled or how much his head swam. It wasn't until that morning when he almost started screaming from hunger pains that he made the choice to limp into a sparsely staffed convenience store and steal a box of Cheerios. 

 

But as he was trudging up the hill, he heard a shrill screech, and the next thing he knew, his golden cereal box had been ripped from him as a monstrous bird-like creature flapped away from him, the box in its withered talons.

 

He knew how ridiculous it was, but he had worked hard to get that bulky box past the cashier’s aisle without being spotted. And he wasn't about to let some scrawny bird get away with his prize. He dashed after the winged monstrosity with an unwavering fervor. After a considerable distance, the red-feathered creature finally perched high up in an oak tree, struggling to remove its talons from the cardboard. 

 

“Curses! Humans and their contraptions nowadays. Darla just wants a snack, but the humans made the evil box steal Darla’s feet so that Darla cannot get the snack,” it muttered angrily under its breath.

 

He froze, startled. He may not have remembered any of his past life, but he was pretty sure birds weren't supposed to talk. 

 

Bewildered, he risked peering around the tree he was using as cover and almost gasped audibly. It was, in fact, not a bird as he had originally assumed. Actually, he didn't know _what_ it was at all. Where a small bird’s head should have been, a woman’s head with matted blonde hair and a gaunt face peeked out over her soiled red plumage. Claw-like hands protruded from the sides of her wings, which she used to tug at the cereal box until it finally flew off of her talons and tumbled to the ground below. Shrieking with glee, she swooped to the ground and began to tear at the box greedily. “Snacks for Darla, yes, yes, yes,” she chanted in a creaky, sing-song voice.

 

As he watched her rip into his food, he didn’t know what came over him, but he had been through a harrowing several days. He had been living under a freaking bridge. The only stuff that he owned were clothes on his back and the ring in his pocket, and that damned cereal box was the first thing he had acquired since waking up in the forest. It. Was. _His_.

 

“Hey!” he shouted, his voice cracking from disuse. 

 

The sickly creature turned her beady eyes towards him slowly, her shriveled hands poised over the emaciated breakfast box. She hissed with disdain. “Demigods. Always taking Darla’s snacks.” 

 

He froze. Demigods. Why was that word so familiar??

 

“Well, not today,” she continued, “ _Darla_ is taking demigod’s snacks today!” She puffed out her chest with pride.

 

“Listen, lady,” he said, trying to sound intimidating while his heart pounded in his ears, “I’ve had a pretty rough week. I just want what I’ve earned. Give my stuff back, and no one has to get hurt.” 

 

Darla snarled and shoved the Cheerios behind her protectively. She repeated, “Darla is taking _demigod’s_ snack today!!!” And with a defiant screech, she charged towards him, claws raised to attack. His eyes widened, and he darted out of her way just as she flew headfirst directly into a tree. Darla yelped with annoyance, clutching at her temples. He realized something: Darla may look menacing, but she really wasn't the brightest. And that gave him an idea. 

 

If he could pull it off, he would get his prized Cheerios. On the other hand, if he failed...Darla’s claws did seem pretty sharp.

 

But on the other hand, he _really_ wanted those Cheerios.

 

“Hey birdbrain!” he shouted. She hissed at him, inching closer. He took a step back, preparing to run. “Your breath smells bad, you’re slow, and your hair is falling out!” His insults were weak, but apparently hair was a touchy subject for Darla. She let out an enraged howl, and catapulted into the air, a snarling red meteor headed straight towards him. He took off in the opposite direction with Darla close behind. As he ran, his mind wandered back to Darla’s previous comment. She had called him a demigod. 

 

_What the hell was a demigod?_

 

Finally, he reached a small shed that he had stumbled upon earlier that day. With his hand poised on the door handle, he waited. Adrenaline coursed through him. He took a shuddering breath. “You can do this,” he told himself. Just then, Darla came barreling into the shaded clearing, her expression clouded with rage. For a moment, they each stood there, eyes locked and unmoving. Suddenly, she sat back, and her eyes narrowed. “Oh…” she began impishly, “Darla recognizes this, yes she does.” He cocked his head in confusion. 

 

“The clothes that you wear, demigod,” she cackled madly, “You’re one of _those_. The underground ones. Darla has never known one to escape before.” Her eyes suddenly widened with unhinged glee, “Maybe if Darla brings you back to them, they will give Darla many, many, _many_ snacks!” And with a guttural roar and a greedy glint in her eye, she lunged at him--which was her mistake. At the very last moment, he wrenched the shed door open, and Darla was hurled inside. Hurriedly, he slammed the door shut and twisted the lock, but before he could catch his breath, a shriveled hand broke through the side window as Darla clawed at the air blindly, screeching obscenities.

 

She latched onto his shirt and yanked him closer to her swollen face, effectively forcing him to look at her sunken, yellowing eyes. “You know what,” she growled menacingly, “Darla hasn’t tasted demigod flesh in many years. Too many calories. But maybe Darla should give it another try!” She jerked him towards her gaping jaw as he struggled hopelessly.

 

Darla’s mouth curved into a sinister smile. “It’s too bad,” she mused, “Darla doubts that you even know anyone that will miss you.” She cackled, and he saw _red_.

 

Suddenly, an unknown instinct took over. He drove his fingers into her eyes, and with a defiant shout, he brought his elbow down on her wing, which elicited a nasty-sounding _crunch_. Darla howled in pain. As she made one final blind lunge, he dove towards the broken window, and seized a sizeable shard of glass.

 

Then he buried it in Darla’s neck. 

 

Her eyes bulged in shock, but to his horror, rather than go limp and lifeless, she began crumbling to dust right before his eyes. He stumbled backwards, disgusted, watching her deteriorate until all that was left of Darla was a greasy red feather stuck between the window panes. 

 

______________________

 

That day, he was beyond horrified with himself. He had just _killed_ something, and it wouldn’t be the only time he did so. And now he had more questions than he did answers. But he learned two things:

 

Number 3: Somehow, he knew how to fight.

 

Number 4: After trying them, he decided that he didn’t particularly like Cheerios.

 

______________________

 

Demigod, he thought to himself as he recalled that day in the woods. He knew that word was important somehow, but he couldn’t remember why. 

 

After his encounter with Darla, he continued to stumble upon strange creatures and monsters in the woods. One time, he could’ve sworn that he saw a girl’s face in a tree, but before he could inspect further, she disappeared with a small _pop_. But he only killed when he had to. It felt wrong. _He_ felt wrong.

 

By now, night had fallen, and he was completely alone--well, even more so than before, anyway. He liked the park at night. It was peaceful, and he could see the stars. But tonight, the silence felt deafening. He didn’t know why, but he found himself starting to sing.

 

The song had no words, but the tune had emerged from the deepest recesses of his brain. He poured his heart into the melody, willing every single emotion into every note. It sounded beautiful, even to his ears. Although he couldn't fathom where the song came from, it comforted him in ways that he couldn't explain. So he kept going.

 

“That’s lovely”

 

He jumped in surprise. A man in a dark suit stood next to the park bench. He hadn’t even heard him approaching. “May I?” the black-haired man asked cordially, gesturing to the spot next to him. He swallowed and nodded, and the man sat down. He turned away, unsure of what this stranger wanted. After a beat of silence, the man asked, “Why did you stop?” 

 

He blinked, unsure of what he was talking about. “Umm, I don’t--”

 

“Singing, boy,” he said impatiently, “Why did you stop?” A moment passed, and when he didn’t respond, the man said in a much gentler voice, “Please, continue. Don’t stop on my account.” He glanced over; the man was staring at him imploringly through deep black eyes. But he sensed no malice, so he nodded, took a shaky breath, and continued to sing.

 

For what seemed like blissful eternity, the only sound that could be heard was his soft voice accompanied by the chirping of the crickets in the night. For him, the song was more than a pretty tune. It meant a family that he never remembered having, friends he didn’t remember meeting. When he sang, he sang of home. 

 

When the song came to an end, neither one of them moved as they each drank in the quiet stillness. Finally the man began to speak.

 

“There was a woman, once. She had the most beautiful, lilting voice.” He smiled sadly, lost in his memories. “We fell in love, we married, and we had tw--” his voice broke. After a moment, he took a deep, steadying breath and continued. “Two children…..together. I remember, she used to sing to them before bed when they were small,” he chuckled sadly, eyes sparkling, “but they would never be able to sleep afterwards....because they always wanted her to keep singing.” The man lowered his head. 

 

Out of curiosity, he asked, “What happened to her?” The man lifted his head and sat forward, his mouth set in a firm line. “She’s dead.” He looked at him and saw his eyes glint like purple flames. “She was taken away,” he said quietly.

 

“And the kids?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking. The man’s shoulders slumped, his eyes defeated and sad. “One of them—she’s gone as well.” He paused. “The other,” he trailed off, “he’s…..around.” The man gave him a cryptic look and said, “His fate is still in the making.”

 

Suddenly a sharp chill swept through the air, and the man glanced up at the sky in apparent annoyance. With a deep sigh, he stood. “That’s my cue, I’m afraid,” he said, reaching into his suit pocket. “Here,” he said, handing him a crisp $100 bill, “This should be enough until then.”

 

“W-what--wait, until when?” he stammered in confusion, grasping the money in awe. The man said nothing as he turned to leave, but as he was walking away, he heard him say, “Keep singing, boy. It’d be a shame to waste a gift like that,” he paused, “Believe me.” As he drifted further and further away, a glint on the man’s hand caught his eye. He squinted at it and froze in shock.

 

“WAIT!” he yelled. The man turned around, one eyebrow raised inquisitively. “W-where did you get that?” he asked, pointing at a ring on the man’s left hand.

 

A silver skull ring.

 

The man looked confused until he, with shaking hands, reached into his tattered pocket and pulled out his own ring. For a moment, he just looked at it, impassive. Then his stony face broke out into a knowing grin as he looked at the boy with newfound appraisal. “Now that _is_ interesting,” he mused aloud. Then the mysterious, dark-suited man turned and walked away without a sound.

 

“Wait! Please!”

 

The man kept walking.

 

“Where did you get it??”

 

The man kept walking; the darkness seemed to gather around him.

 

“Who are you?!” he shouted desperately, but it was futile.

 

The shadows swallowed the man whole.

________________________

Number 5: He could sing.


	3. Fight or Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What happened to you?”
> 
> Back away.
> 
> “You completely disappeared.”
> 
> Gods, please stop talking.
> 
> “None of us knew where you were,”
> 
> Stop. Please.
> 
> “...or why you were gone.”
> 
> You’re too close.
> 
> “Everyone has been really, _really_ worried about you.”
> 
> Too close.
> 
> “Especially--”
> 
> No.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is our favorite amnesiac?? Find out in the next episode!

He found himself dreading it, but after two weeks, he finally ran out of money.

He had rationed that strange man’s $100, eating only when he absolutely had to--because it felt wrong to steal when he _did_ , in fact, have money. But today, he finally found himself penniless as he munched on a breakfast burrito, which he had salvaged from a gas station for half the price since it was several days past the expiration date. 

Whatever. It was still food.

Even two weeks later, he couldn’t stop thinking about his encounter with the mysterious man in the park. Something about him had felt vaguely familiar. The man reminded him of something--or someone. He just didn’t know who. He also felt an aura of power around him, and he had seen enough monsters in the last several weeks to recognize power. The man may have spoken in a soft voice and perhaps didn’t look very threatening, but he was certain that he was not someone to be trifled with. He remembered how his eyes seemed to flicker dangerously, as if daring someone to challenge him.

He took a bite of his expired breakfast, chewing thoughtfully. Suddenly, something tingled in the back of his head. He felt his senses heighten, and his body grew tense with anticipation. He scanned the gas station parking lot warily. Something dangerous was nearby, something powerful. Or perhaps _someo--_

“Solace??”

He froze, his insides turning to ice. That word, that _name_ \--it was so familiar. Too familiar. On some unknown instinct, he turned towards the source of the voice. It was a girl, an intimidating girl with a weathered face and a black bandana tied around her stringy, brown hair. She was built like an ox, her mouth agape with something akin to shock. She stood tentatively, as if being amicable was a foreign concept to her. With her stocky build and rigid stance, she was obviously a fighter. He made a mental note of that. 

“Solace,” she repeated more confidently, grinning widely. 

Why did she keep saying that? 

He stood up slowly, carefully. Something about this didn’t sit well with him. He had been homeless and alone for nearly a month and a half. No one ever bothered to talk to him during that time... except for the man on the park bench. Most of the time it felt like he was invisible. So the fact that someone decided to approach him, that they even seemed to _recognize_ him, was very off putting. He took a cautious step back. The girl’s grin faltered. 

“Where have you been?” she asked accusingly, “Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you?? We tried Iris-messages. We sent scouts,” she scoffed slightly, “We even tried asking your _dad_!”

Nothing this girl was saying made any sense. His head spun wildly. Iris-messaging? His dad?? He was drawing a blank, and this new girl’s scary demeanor wasn’t helping his urge to throw the remnants of his food in her face and flee the scene. 

It felt like he was waiting for someone to yell, “Ha! Psych!” and tell him that this was all a cruel joke. But no one did. The girl’s rugged face remained impassive as she waited for him to respond.

“I--”

Suddenly a branch snapped at the treeline. 

It was as if a switch had been flicked. The girl’s face immediately snapped into a menacing snarl as she whirled around, reaching behind her and pulling out a concealed spear that crackled with blue sparks of electricity. He staggered back in fear. 

_What the hell?? Who was this chick???_

In retrospect, he knew that this girl probably wouldn’t have hurt him--because if she wanted to, she clearly could have done so by then--but up to that point, for as long as he could remember, he had lived off of two major instincts: fight or flight, which left very little room for additional thought. And right now, this girl was wielding an electric spear that she very cleary knew how to use, and he wielded a half-eaten 99￠ breakfast burrito.

He fled.

Distantly, he heard her shout something, but he refused to look back. His heart banged in his ears as his bare feet scraped against the asphalt. He ran blindly, his mind scrambling to make sense of the situation: A scary girl with sparkly spear actually recognized him, and she kept calling him... _soulless? Why?_

Wait. Could she see the monsters too?? 

Or was she one of them?

Eventually, he found himself in a narrow alleyway. But as he turned the corner, he ran straight into a brick wall, and the girl was right on his tail. He was trapped.

“Wait!” she yelled, wheezing slightly. She may be a fighter, but she was obviously not a very adept runner. He made another mental note of that in case he did, in fact, have to fight his way out of this one. His senses were on high alert. He found himself analyzing everything about her and storing it away for future use. It almost felt like muscle memory--like he had done this sort of thing before… a lot. Suddenly, the girl chuckled under her breath. “Shit, Solace, you didn’t have to make me run a damn marath--”

“I DON’T KNOW YOU!” 

The girl stumbled slightly, stunned by his sudden outburst. She laughed nervously in disbelief. “C’mon, Solace, it’s me,” she said, visibly confused. When he shook his head desperately, concern began to dawn in her eyes. “I’m Clarisse La Rue,” she began tentatively, “Do you remember me?” He started to panic.

His breathing felt shallow. His chest felt uncomfortably warm. His vision swam in and out of focus. He didn’t know what to do, and he was trapped. Everything was too much. Clarisse La Rue shouldered her spear and put her hands above her head, advancing slowly. “Listen,” she said in a measured tone, “I just want to talk.”

He was breaking down. His chest burned. He felt like he was breathing through a straw. He wanted to tell her to get the hell away, but his voice failed him. She kept coming closer. 

“What happened to you?”

Back away.

“You completely disappeared.”

Gods, please stop talking.

“None of us knew where you were,”

Stop. Please.

“...or why you were gone.”

You’re too close.

“Everyone has been really, _really_ worried about you.”

Too close.

“Especially--”

No.

“--di Angelo.”

Oh gods.

 _Nico._  
______________________

 

_Will watched him walk away from Percy and Annabeth with slight apprehension. He looked so relieved--so happy. And not many people had the pleasure of seeing those two words go together: Nico. Happy. Vaguely, Will wondered what Percy had said to make him feel that way. Not that he was worried about it. Or anxious. Or jealous. Or obsessing about--_

_“Ready?” he heard himself ask Nico cheerfully. Nico rolled his eyes dramatically, visibly forcing his relief down as his stony expression settled back into place. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said indifferently._

_“Remember, three whole days in the infirmary. You owe that much to me. No ifs, ands, or buts. Got it?” Will said in his best ‘I-am-a-doctor-and-you-will-listen-to-me’ voice._

_“Whatever,” Nico replied, his eyes cast down._

_“Hey,” Will said, tilting Nico’s chin up so he was looking at him, ignoring his cry of protest. “Three days?” he said in a much gentler tone. Nico pulled away sharply, trying and failing to hide his reddening face as he blushed furiously. But he looked up at Will, allowing a small smile to illuminate the shadows on his face. “Three days,” he said softly. Will smiled warmly._

_“After you,” he said._

_Nico smirked. “You first, Sunshine.”_

_Will threw his hands up in mock indignation. “Oh come on! Sunshine? You’ll have to be more original than that, Death Boy.” Nico stopped abruptly, his mouth set in a firm line as he glared up at Will stonily._

_Shit. That wasn’t supposed to be offensive. Please don’t be offended._

_For a terrifying moment, Will thought that Nico would stomp off, but he just waved his hand dismissively and said, “Please, you’re berating **me** for originality?? Death Boy is so overdone. Find something new, Music Man.” Then he sauntered into the infirmary, leaving Will’s jaw somewhere on the floor. Will stared at Nico’s receding figure in awe. Then he grinned._

_“I’ll have you know that Music Man is a wonderful classic piece of musical theatre!” he shouted._

_“No it isn’t.”_

_Gods, he was amazing._

______________________

_Nico._

“Solace,” Clarisse said, sounding uneasy, “Are you okay? You’re glowing.” He groaned in pain. His chest was on fire. Panic was coursing through his every vein. Everything was too much. He felt something powerful rising in him. This girl—Clarisse, needed to get far away from him. 

For her own safety.

“Please,” he rasped desperately, “get away.”

But she didn’t listen. “Listen Solace...Will, do I need to call someone?” she asked warily. “I could message Nic—“

Too much.

He screamed, and his chest exploded in a supernova of light.

______________________

 

When he came to, he was lying on the ground. He looked around blearily. The sky was darkening, and storm clouds swirled ominously. He rose unsteadily to his feet, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He had so many questions, so many thoughts, so many feelings. Everything had just piled up really fast—he really didn’t mean to lose control. It was all just too much. 

Wait. Where was Clar—

Suddenly, he heard a low moan. 

Clarisse lay on the ground in a fetal position, shivering as she winced and groaned in pain. Her hands gripped the sides of her head as if she was trying to block out a loud sound. He covered his mouth to stifle a sob. 

_Oh gods._ No one was supposed to get hurt. He _knew_ something bad was about to happen. But she didn’t listen. And now it was too late. Deep down, some instinctive part of him suspected that he was supposed to help people, to heal them, and now an innocent girl was hurt because of him.

With unbridled tears streaming down his face, he stepped forward, wanting to help her—to fix everything. But she scrambled away from him, her eyes wide in fear. “Wh-what the fu..what...how...Solace….” she stammered, “What is _wrong_ with you??” 

He had no answer.

He stumbled back, clutching at his chest. “ _I’m sorry_ ,” he sobbed, “I’m so sorry.”

Then he turned and fled.

______________________

He felt numb.

His body felt drained of all energy, and his head was clouded with questions. He felt heavy with guilt. He hadn’t meant to hurt Clarisse--he didn’t want to hurt anyone, but there was something inside him that he didn’t remember how to control.

And it terrified him.

But who was she? Because she obviously knew who he was...or at least, she thought she did. Who were the people in his vision? Percy? Annabeth?

Nico.

Just thinking of the name unearthed a plethora of unfamiliar emotions in him. Clarisse mentioned that Nico was worried about him, which meant he was obviously important somehow. But who _was_ he?

By some miracle, he felt himself start drifting off towards sleep. But before his eyes drooped shut, he reached for his flyer, smoothed it out shakily, and wrote something down. 

Then he slipped into the first dream he'd ever had in one and a half months.

______________________

Number 6: His name was Will Solace.

Number 7: Will Solace was dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if ya want......................(I crave validation)


	4. Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They came in flashes; something akin to imagery, but Will feared that they may have actually been memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ding dong, this bitch ain’t dead.
> 
> First and foremost, I’m sorry for not uploading in so long; I’ve had a lot on my plate, personally. Long story.
> 
> Secondly, this is gonna be a shorter chapter, but it’ll get things moving along.
> 
> Enjoy!

For as long as he could remember, which was, granted, not a long time, his dormant mind had been unable to conjure up a single dream. Although, in retrospect, maybe that was a good thing.

 

Because perhaps ignorance was some convoluted form of bliss.

 

Because as soon as he—or Will, as he now understood it—fell prey to exhaustion, his mind fell prey to nightmares.

 

______________________

 

_They came in flashes; something akin to imagery, but Will feared that they may have actually been memories._

_It began with a woman lying in a dim hospital room. To say she was beautiful would be a severe understatement, but she seemed weary and her skin had taken on a sickly pallor. Yet, despite her obvious discomfort, her eyes glinted brightly, as if she was in on some secret, hilarious joke. She gazed at Will fondly and clasped his hand tightly, reassuringly._

_“When I get out of here,” she said firmly, “I’m gonna take you out to Hudson’s.” Will scrunched up his eyebrows, puzzled, but he found himself chuckling nonetheless. The woman seemed unfazed, saying, “Listen, having to eat the food in this place should be considered a traumatic experience. I want some damn ice cream!”_

_Will snorted. “Okay, Mom.”_

_She was strong. She would make it out of there._

_Will had no doubt of it._

_As his dream shifted, he found himself kneeling over a boy that he didn’t recognize. He must have been about seventeen, and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead with dirt and sweat. War raged on around them, but all Will could focus on was his desperate attempt to stem the flow of dark crimson seeping from a gash in the boy’s abdomen._

_With shaking fingers, the boy reached for a pale green pendant hanging from his neck. He yanked it off and turned his gaze to Will, who was frantically trying to remove his armor. “H-hey,” the boy said weakly, “what’s your name?” Will glanced him, somewhat distracted, but he managed to say, “Will, but please don’t talk right now. You need to conserve your energy.” The boy smiled sadly; he seemed unnervingly calm. “I’m Neil. Neil Takashi.” Neil chuckled, there was no mirth behind it._

_“Nice to meet you, Will.”_

_Before he saw any more, the carnage melted away, and he was suddenly gazing out over a grassy field bathed in moonlight. Will was seated on a roof next to a girl his age with green streaks in her hair. She spoke in a somber voice, but as she glanced at him, Will found that he couldn’t conjure up her name. Actually, Will found that he couldn’t conjure up_ anything. _Not a single conscious thought. Not a wisp of emotion. Even the world around him seemed further away than usual. He realized that he felt....oddly disconnected from everything, like his head was filled with cotton. And that was all he was really able to focus on._

_“Are you gonna tell him?” she asked tentatively._

_Despite his inability to tear his blurred gaze away from one random spot by edge of the forest, Will found himself shrugging indifferently. “Won’t change anything,” he said, defeated. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He didn’t look up; he couldn’t, but she didn’t seem to mind. She seemed to understand what was happening, which was slightly alarming since he had absolutely no clue.“You should,” she said with surprising conviction._

_Suddenly, the field faded from sight, and he was standing in a darkened arena. If he looked up, he couldn’t see how high it went, only inky blackness. He was panting heavily, and he felt the raw panic coursing through his veins as the crowd jeered and whooped when a scaly woman’s cold fingers closed around his hand and lifted it in the air as a show of victory._

_His hand that was gripping a crudely-made sword._

_A sword that was covered in human blood._

_Will screamed, and his dream changed one final time._

_He was in a quaint motel room. This felt different from the other parts of his dream; Will felt like he wasn’t supposed to be here, seeing this. As he looked around warily, he noticed an older girl with dark hair and a stoic expression tapping her leg anxiously. It seemed like she couldn’t see him, and for the moment, Will was more than okay with that because, somehow, he had no doubt that this girl was most likely capable of taking on an entire army and emerging unscathed. But she appeared to be on edge about something. She kept glancing towards the door like she was waiting on someone._

_Fortunately, he didn’t have to ponder on that for very long because, just then, the door opened, and the scary girl leapt to her feet._

_Through the doorway came a short figure, his face concealed by a black hoodie and his hands shoved forcibly in his pockets. On his waist hung a long black sword, and honestly, he seemed miserable._

_The girl crossed the room in two strides, and grabbed his shoulders. “Where have you been?” she asked frantically. The hooded boy scowled and shrugged her aside. “I’m not in the mood for this right now, Reyna,” he said in a gravelly voice, stomping past her and sitting on the bed, his head hung low._

_Something about him seemed familiar to Will, but without seeing his face, he wasn’t sure._

_Reyna, undeterred by his actions, continued angrily, “We agreed to meet back here at sunset. It’s two o’clock in the morning, asshole! Do you know how worried I’ve been??” The boy grunted and turned away from her. Reyna’s eyes glinted dangerously. “This has to stop,” she said quietly, “You know that if he were here, he would tell you the same thing.”_

_“Don’t bring him into this,” he growled. But Reyna wasn’t done._

_“You don’t sleep,” she said._

_The boy scoffed._

_“Jason and I have had to force you to eat.”_

_“Stop it,” he said._

_“You’re reckless, and you never let yourself take a break.”_

_“I mean it, Reyna!”_

_“So do I! If you don’t slow down, you’re going to fade away! And this time, we won’t be able to save you!!”_

_“WHAT CHOICE DO I HAVE???” he bellowed, turning around so sharply that his hood fell, revealing his face. Will inhaled sharply just as Reyna lurched forward and grabbed his forearm, yanking down his sleeve._

_“You are killing yourself, Nico!!” she exclaimed desperately._

_There was a reason why Will didn’t recognize him at first; Nico looked awful. The version of him that Will had briefly seen before was sarcastic and seemed tentatively optimistic for a fresh start. But now, his every feature seemed drained and worn down with hopelessness. His face was pale and gaunt, and if his red, swollen eyes weren’t enough indication, his voice was scratchy and low, as if he had been crying. His hair was long and unkempt, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in months. But the worst part was his hands._

_It was clear that Nico had wanted to hide it, but even as Reyna gripped his forearm, his hands were smoky and translucent. You could barely see his fingertips as they slowly vanished into the air. It shook Will to his core, but what shocked him more was the way that Nico’s bottom lip started to tremble under Reyna’s gaze._

_“I just—,” he said softly, “He’s been gone for so long that people are starting to forget him. No one even bothers to look for him anymore! Except me. When Percy disappeared, they didn’t stop trying. W-why should Will be any different?” Will froze as those words hit him like a punch in the gut._

_People stopped looking for him. They didn’t care._

_No. Nico had been looking for him. Nico cared._

_Nico’s voice waved as he pressed on, “If Clarisse hadn’t been in the area, I don’t even know if we would have ever found him. I—“_

_“I really thought he was dead,” he paused, fighting off tears,“but he’s not. He’s so close. So close, Reyna. And I can’t lose him again. I won’t!”_

_Reyna surged forward, effectively silencing him with her fierce embrace. Nico hesitated for a moment before he buried his face in her neck, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Reyna stroked his dark hair soothingly. “We will find him, Nico,” she said with finality._

_“We’ll find him.”_

 

______________________

 

Will awoke with tears in his eyes. 

 

Now more than ever, he needed answers.

 

He needed to find Nico.

 

______________________

 

**The following day...**

 

Chiron gazed fondly over the glistening lake, where nereids flirted with the Ares cabin and splashed a few of Aphrodite’s daughters when they drew too close. Two sons of Athena pored over a map of camp in preparation for Capture the Flag while a daughter of Apollo instructed an archery class nearby. He chuckled as he noticed two disgruntled campers walked towards the Hypnos cabin carrying a snoring Clovis. 

 

It was admittedly nice for Chiron to finally worry about the little things again. Like Clovis falling asleep in the middle of sparring. Or when a daughter of Hecate turned one of Hermes’ kid’s feet into bright red stilettos and refused to change them back unless he gave back her mascara. Or when a group of Camp Jupiter kids came in the dead of night and TP’ed the mess hall. Or when he got an Iris message from Reyna saying that their baths had all mysteriously been filled with Jell-O, and it wasn’t going away no matter what anyone did.

 

Not that Chiron would have known anything about that, of course.

 

It was pleasant to focus on something other than the impending apocalypse or some mysterious disaster. He sighed wearily. The last time that happened was a little over seven months ago, back when—

 

“Chiron!” someone cried.

 

Startled from his thoughts, he turned to the source of the noise and saw Clarisse La Rue sprinting towards him. Chiron frowned. Clarisse rarely visited camp anymore unless something was wrong. Concerned, he cantered over to her. 

 

“Miss La Rue, is everything alright?” he asked. Heaving, Clarisse shook her head. “Reyna and….di Angelo,” she said between breaths, “They’re back, but Nico….he’s fading….fast.” Chiron nodded, but Clarisse continued.

 

“Wait, Chiron,” she said, “There’s something you should know.” He waited as she looked around warily, making sure no one could hear them.

 

“Will Solace is with them,” she whispered, “H-he’s in pretty bad shape.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment and kudos if ya like! (the author craves validation)
> 
> Instagram: azure_nereid
> 
> Tumblr: your—huckleberry


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